The Case of the Victorian Closet
by CarterMacGyver
Summary: the adventures of katherine holmes, sherlock's daughter, as she continues her father's work. a ladyinwaiting, a duchess, and a duke's daughter are the players in this mystery.


A/N:this is my first attempt at writing anything in the world of sherlock holmes. i found this hidden away on my hard drive when i was assigned to read "the sign of four" for my british history class. So i thought i'd polish it a little and post it. read, enjoy, and review. please remember, flames aren't nice, however well written flames will be used for dart practice.

Disclaimer:if you think i own anything recognizable as being sherlock holmes, you need psychiatric attention. i am a poor university student and so suing me will do no good.

The Case of the Victorian Closet

My favorite saying is that, "curiosity killed the cat," I've just always added, "but not the human." I like this saying not just because my name is Katherine, but also because I'm something of a private detective. The work practically comes with being my father's daughter, my last name you see, is Holmes. As in Kate Holmes or in the case of my late father, Sherlock Holmes.

Many thought that my father would stay a bachelor forever, but when he met my mother, a colonel's daughter who was half-Indian and had been raised in India, he was instantly smitten. Dr. Watson once said that he couldn't tell is my father loved her for her beauty or her brains. I say he loved her because he both needed and wanted her. Besides how many women could keep up with him? Anyway, she died shortly after the birth of my baby brother, John, and he died a week after she did. So I was left in the care of my father and Dr. Watson. If Mrs. Hudson had not been there to help I honestly, don't know what would have happened to me. Still I spent most of my childhood in India and Scotland, I look enough like my mother that initially the grief was too strong for me to stay in London, it saved the sanity of both my father and myself. But I still grew up to be like my father, without many of his more disagreeable tendencies and vices, the good doctor saw to that.

Anyway, on this dreary, rainy London morning I was sitting in the sitting room of my home at 221B Baker Street, reading the morning paper when, of course, the doorbell rang. I prefer to answer the door myself, so I got up and went to the door. A young woman stood there with James Lestrade, Inspector Lestrade's son.

"Please come in. How can I help?" I asked letting them in and taking them to the sitting room.

"I-I don't know if you can help me Miss Holmes. I…" and the she started crying. I led her to the couch as James stood there with that look of 'what do I do?' on his face.

"Go tell Mrs. Hudson to make some tea and then bring it," I told him. Men, they are hopeless. "What's the matter dear? I can't help you if don't tell me," I said gently as I held her and handed her a handkerchief. I keep a few around, in case of emergencies like this one.

"T-thank you. Mr. Lestrade said you would be able to help."

"And I would be delighted to help you. Now, are you able to tell me what's wrong?"

"Yes, I believe I am. Oh, thank you!" she said to James as he reentered and handed her a cup of tea. He then handed me a cup, which I used to hide a smile as I watched her face. It was easy to see the girl's face light up when he was in the room, I figured he had met her at Almack's.

"My name is Jessica Porter, I am the lady-in-waiting for the Duchess of Albany. I am here because my lady has been taken."

"Taken? As in kidnapped?" I asked for clarification.

"Yes. My lady is very young you see about the same age as I am. Her husband is much older, and well, he's jealous."

"Jealous?"

"That his wife, his second wife you know, is prettier than his daughter."

"So you believe the Duke of Albany had his wife kidnapped because she's prettier than his daughter?"

"Oh no Miss Holmes! Not his Lordship! His daughter. She's a vain girl with no heart in her. Miss Holmes you must help, I fear for my lady's life!"

"I will do what I can. Now tell me, where was the Duchess when she was taken?"

"In her chambers at the house here in London. What with the Season and all, my lady and her stepdaughter were here. Her husband is still in Albany, he's to be joining them next week, but I don't know what he will do if he comes and finds her gone."

I sighed heavily; I knew or at least had a good idea of what he would do, especially if we didn't find her fast. I stood up and smiled at the girl, "Well, then we'll just have to find her. I think it's time I saw the Duchess's room's and met the stepdaughter."

James grabbed my arm and pulled me aside when Jessica wasn't looking, "You can't be thinking about going there, are you?"

"Why not?" I hissed back.

"Because, the stepdaughter is dangerous, very dangerous."

"Then I won't present myself as a threat. James, I can take care of myself you know."

"I know, but the Duke's daughter has friends who have reason to hate the names Holmes and my dear Kate, with that name, you are a threat."

"So I won't tell her my names, I'll pretend to be an old school friend of the Duchess's or a new servant that her father has just sent. James, do remember, I am my father's daughter."

"Yes," he said with a quiet laugh, "you are that. And the most unusual girl in England."

"Funny they said that in both Scotland and in India."

With that we rejoined Miss Porter and James helped both of us into the cab. "I'll meet you there Kate. Miss Porter," with that he left us as the cab took us down to the Duke of Albany's London home.

"Are the two of you close?" Jessica asked.

"James and I? We're friends, that's all."

"Odd that two friends should be on a first name basis."

"We grew up together. Our father's often worked together and would leave us to play when I was in London. It just seemed rather idiotic to call each other Miss Holmes and Mr. Lestrade, since we were already friends."

"I see. It must make things interesting with your family though, you being so close to a man you aren't going to marry."

"Am I the detective or are you Miss Porter? To answer your question, my only living family is either in Scotland or India, so what I do is my own business. Ah, we're here."

The cab pulled up to a new looking townhouse. It was one on the homes that in later times would be called Victorian houses. It was a grand home, worthy of a Duchess. The home was painted a cheery red and I could easily imagine a happy young couple living there. Too bad that young woman was missing, probably dead. Bit I still had many avenues to explore and I new completely trust what people tell me verbally. Only what I can see, touch, taste or smell, of course I always, always, trust my gut instinct. It's been right far too for me not to trust it.

And right now my gut was saying that something was wrong about Jessica Porter. I watched her carefully as she unlocked the front door and lead me in, not the servant's door on the side of the house, as I expected. In England, society has strict rules and even though she was a lady-in-waiting, that still translated to a high-ranking maid. And maids do not go in the front door of the home of a Duchess.

She seemed very familiar with the home, as I would expect, but it was the little things. She hesitated before taking her coat off as if she expected someone to materialize and take it off for her. Also she seemed rather pale and dainty, almost prim and proper as a Duchess would b instead of like most the maids I knew were. (And since my grandfather is a Colonel in the Royal Army and my great-grandfather, who is still living, is a maharajah in India, I know a few things about the kind of maids, Duchess's like to have around.) The problem was Jessica Porter was too good, she acted very lady-like, as if she had been doing it her entire life, and most maids are not ladies he was nobility are and don't act it. When we were in the Duchess's rooms, nothing was out of order. The bed made, the room clean, even on the desk there was nothing to be found. "Did you move anything, clean or straighten up after you found the Duchess missing?" I asked her.

"Me? Oh no, Miss Holmes I didn't touch anything."

"Very good of you," I mumbled as U paced across the room, looking at the floor, the walls, even at the window. "Where does that door lead?" I inquired, pointing at a door in the far corner of the room.

"Oh that, that door leads to the closet."

"Is it locked?"

"No, Miss Holmes. Why would I lock it?"

"Just asking," I went to the door and tried it. It didn't budge. "The door seems to be jammed," I told her when she seemed to look at me. But no surprise was on her face, only worry and alarm.

I can almost understand these emotions. After all a door that is supposed to be unlocked is stuck or as I suspected when I tried the door again, locked.

"Well, I've seen enough I think. I would like to see you again tomorrow night, say around six o'clock?"

:Oh I'm afraid I cannot. Tomorrow is Wednesday and I must escort Lady Anne, that's the Duchess's stepdaughter, to Almack's. Perhaps the next night?"

"Thursday morning then. I believe I know where the Duchess is and the sooner she is back the better."

"If you know where my lady is, then my don't you say now?"

"There are a few things I must check on first. However, can I meet with Lady Anne now. Just to observe her?"

"I'm afraid not. Lady Anne is not at home right now and she is not expected back for some time. I'm sorry I wish I could help you more."

"It's all right, you've given me more then enough help as is." With that I left and returned home. I had barely been there more than five minutes when the bell rang again. Tired and slightly irritated I answered it. James stood there smiling at me. "What is it now, James?"

"What do you think of her?"

"She likes you and she's not a maid. That's what I know, but a few friends of mine are going to collect some more on her."

"The Baker Street Dozen?"

"Who else? Now I just have to call them," with that I sighed and sat down in the large winged chair, next to which sat a table with a violin on it, lovingly cared for and in quite good condition for its age.

James sat opposite me on the couch as I quickly composed the necessary messages and called an errand boy, Jon, who lived down the street and wanted nothing more than to truly become one of the Baker Street Dozen, my silent eyes and ears among the gentry. As we waited for the group to come, being slightly paranoid I almost never give written instructions, I played the piano that my mother had put into the house and James pestered me with questions. I would have long ago stopped him from asking questions while I played, but I had adopted the habit of playing piano when I needed to think, and his questions, annoying though are at times, have often helped me put the pieces of the puzzle together.

The only thing I could concentrate on, however, was that door. No matter what I did to concentrate harder on the music, choosing a harder piece, or concentrating on James's questions while still playing, my mind kept coming back to that infernal door. From past experience I knew what that meant, I had to find out what was locked in that closet.

Finally the group assembled and I explained that I wanted to know everything about Lady Anne, the Duchess of Albany, and the maid Jessica Porter. When they had scattered into the windy, rainy, street of London, I gave James his orders. He was to go to Almack's and like the Dozen find out everything.

"But where will you be?" he asked, suspicion gleaming in his eyes.

"Officially I will be at a concert at the theatre on High Street. They have a wonderful program scheduled for tonight with a young violinist who is quite good. Also an older more experienced player will be there, it will be I'm sure, a most exciting evening." One of the many things I inherited and learned from my infrequent stays with my father was an undying love of the violin, like him I can play, I simply prefer the piano on most occasions.

"And unofficially?" James asked.

"At the London home of the Duchess of Albany, of course. Hopefully I will quickly finish my business there so that I won't miss the concert."

"What if you get caught? Oh I know," he stopped me from replying with a glance, "you are as good as Mr. Holmes was at getting into places you shouldn't be, but what about the servants?"

"James, servants are hardest at work when the family they work for is away, it's one of the times when they can work openly and freely as well as talk to each other in the front rooms. When I was there this morning, no one except Miss Porter and myself were there."

"How do you know?"

"I showed myself out the door. And checked all the rooms on my out. There wasn't even a fire in the kitchen or food in the icebox. Something is wrong in this case and I am going to figure it out."

"You know with that drive it might be a good thing that you are not a royal tax collector. No one would ever be able to lie just a little about taxes."

"I'll ignore that, you might, however, be in a bit of trouble if your father ever hears you talking like that."

"The Honorable Inspector Lestrade can hear? Why did no one tell me? Call all the newspapers, all the scientists and doctors, all the priests, a miracle has occurred!"

Laughing I pushed him out the door and began to get ready for my nighttime investigations.

Later, as the sun was setting in all its fiery glory, I took a hansom down to the cheery red Victorian. After paying the driver, a man with a sharp cockney accent and a face as cunning as I have ever seen, I went to the front door and a small key like tool into my hand, forced open the door.

The front foyer was dark and silent as I crept down the hallway and up the stairs. Counting the doors as I had done before I quickly found the Duchess's room. After cracking the door to see if anyone was in there and finding the room deserted, I slipped in and closed the door. Not wanting to notify anyone in one of the neighboring houses to my presence, I did not light a candle or a lamp. Crossing to the locked door, I used the same trick I had used on the front door. This times I heard the tumblers fall into place and the door opened quite easily. Gently touching a hinge, after taking one glove off, I felt the oil on y finger, someone had not wanted this door to creek. Stepping in, I lit the candle I had brought with me and saw a very pretty young woman lying bound on the floor. After I cut the ropes, for the knots had been tight and strong, I waved smelling salts under her nose.

After a moment she presently came awake and was quite surprised to see me.

"Who are you?" she asked in a light, pleasant, (at least to my ears) Scottish accent.

"Katherine Holmes. Can you walk? I would like very much to get out of here and to somewhere a bit more safe, and pleasant."

"Scotland's a long ways from here though so where will you take me?"

"221B Baker Street, its not quite Edinburgh, Glasgow, or the Highlands, but its safe enough."

Once she was up I bound several blankets and placed them where she had lain. Then I locked both the closet door and the front door as we left the house. Neither a cab nor a hansom was in sight, so after quickly inspecting the dress the young lady was wore, I suggested we walk to High Street quite close by (two streets over, in fact) and attend the concert. After worrying a moment about her appearance she agreed and we enjoyed a delightful evening of Bach, Mozart, and many other notable composers.

When we arrived at my home, James was there waiting impatiently and pacing across the floor of the sitting room. After spending a few frantic minutes trying to calm him down, I managed to restore a semblance of peace to my home. Then the girl told us her story.

"I am Anne of Albany, the Duke's daughter. My stepmother's name is Christine and I believe it is she who came to see you Miss Holmes. Christine, you see is a very vain woman and my father met her while traveling in America. He fell in love with her youth and beauty, which is quite exquisite, and brought her back here. My own mother was a Lady in Scotland and since her death I have been living with her family in the Highlands. But when I turned 16, I came to London to live with my father. Everything was fine for about two years, the novelty of being a Duchess was just what Christine wanted, but then it wasn't enough. She grew tired of my father, he is almost 60 you know, and began to have an affair with an American who cam to visit us last winter.

"Before I knew it, she was practically dragging me to London for the Season and for some reason dismissed all the servants at out London home. I don't even remember being tied up and locked in the closet I'm afraid. And as glad as I am to be out of there, I fear for what she may do when she finds me gone."

"James," I said, turning to him after she had finished with her story, "what do you notice about her?"

Looking closely at Anne, he said, "She is thin and from her appetite" she had been eating a large meal before she had spoken, "I would say she's telling the truth."

"Once again you've failed to see the obvious. Jessica Porter, whom we must assume is really the Duchess Christine of Albany, looks exactly like this young lady. Now why is that?"

"So that when the police or someone finds the Duke dead and the Duchess is announced to be kidnapped and presumed dead, Christine, pretending to be Anne will not only inherit the fortune but be free of her husband. But why pretend to be her stepdaughter?"

"So that people will pity her. A girl returns home to live with her father, her father remarries thus making the family whole again, and suddenly that is snatched away from her. A tragedy. That's why I sent out the Dozen to discover and personality changes or sudden memory loss by Lady Anne, or rather Christine pretending to be Anne. One last question haunts me though."

"What is that Miss Holmes? It seems to me you know everything," Anne interjected.

"Why come to me? It risked her entire plan. We will, however, know the answer in the morning."

At that, James took his leave of us, with instructions to bring one of his friends from Scotland Yard with him in the morning, and Anny retired to my guest room, the one that once long ago was Dr. Watson's room when he lived here with my father. I, however, did not go to bed. Instead I sat thinking, staring at the flames of the fire, James had built up while he had waited for me to return earlier that evening.

For once it seemed the flames did not cheer me or warm me. Instead as I thought of Christine, Anne, and the Duke, the colder I became, until, I am very sure I could have passed as an ice statute, at least in spirit.

I sat there at least an hour, not thinking, not feeling, just staring at the fire. Finally I arose and again, instead of going to bed, I picked up the violin and like my father before me, I played out what I felt, the melody of the day and my own quiet inner fear of the next. The sound penetrated to all the rooms of the house, this I knew well, and slowly the haunting melancholy melody wove through the rooms at 221B Baker Street and after a time, I finally retired for the night.

When I awoke the next day, I dressed hurriedly and set the sitting room for company. Glancing out the window and seeing only the London fog far thicker than the thickest pea soup any have been forced to eat. I stoked the fire, bringing it to a friendly cheerful roar.

Anne awoke shortly after I and at breakfast we chatted lightly of Scotland, who we knew there, who we missed it, and what our favorite places were. And we had brought this light chatter to the sitting room when James and Inspector Nathan Smith arrived.

I didn't know whether or not to be pleased at James's choice, out of all the Yarders Nathan Smith is one of the brightest, quickest, and youngest of the bunch. He also has on many occasions courted me and try as I might to deny it, I am a romantic and find it hard to agree to marry someone who I like, but don't love. Needless to say this has caused quite a few tense moments when we end up working together.

Both men greeted us with a nod and sat as we all now participated in the idle chatter and gossip of the day. It was hardly fair, if Nathan, James and I knew someone, Anne usually did not know them; and if Anne, James and I knew someone, Nathan did not know them. But we did our best, all we could do was wait anyway.

Finally, the guest of honor arrived. And as James led her into the sitting room, she gasped, "What is she doing here?"

"Oh you mean me, Christine? I decided I didn't like the closet and decided to come out," Anne replied sweetly.

"You made a few mistakes you know, Christine. I have just one question, why risk it by coming to me and asking me to look into your disappearance?" I asked in a quiet voice, the one you use when you are too tired to care anymore.

"I wanted to see how you would compare to your father. After all, it is presumptuous of you, a woman having a career, and especially doing a man's job," she sneered back as Nathan rose and calmly arrested her. To young officers who had been waiting down the street took her away and I sank lower in my chair as the cab took her farther away from me and closer to Scotland Yard.

"What are you going to do now Miss Holmes?" Anne asked. I hadn't managed to get her to call me Kate. "Wait for another case perhaps?" she continued.

"No," I said, closing my eyes and leaning back into the chair, "I think I will go home for a while."

"Home?" Nathan and Anne asked as the same time. James knew me too well to inquire as to what I meant.

"Yes, home. Home to India, land of seasonal bad weather."


End file.
